


Hundred Fifty-Seventh Time's The Charm

by Reirachan



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992), Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead - Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead (1990) RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, idk the inspiration struck, the orange/white is really brief too, this is basically an AU/not sorta AU in which Guildenstern and Rosencrantz travel between words, way more rosencrantz and guildenstern than reservoir dogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:44:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3419816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reirachan/pseuds/Reirachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's got something to do with money, hasn't it - no, diamonds. He really should focus on the diamonds.<br/>OR: Guildenstern is at the edge of something - but he burns that bridge behind him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hundred Fifty-Seventh Time's The Charm

There’s always this guy around, he realizes – he doesn’t look the same, never quite right, but he’s always there. He can see the smirk playing at his lips whenever he comes to the realisation that Guildenstern’s always being manipulated by him, one way or another. It starts when he listens to his advice, and all of a sudden the guy is burning holes in his façade, shoving him back in the side where he’s supposed to belong – reminding him that nothing, nothing will ever end well, if anything because he can’t just stand there and watch this sadistic fucker do such thing, right in his face, so he shoots – but somehow he gets the feeling he is never really gone, because his body is there, but it doesn’t smell like any blood besides his own.

Yes, he thinks, he’s always been there – in that place – somewhere – what was he thinking about? White’s got his arms around his chair and he listens to Mr Pink’s talk about tipping, and all of a sudden it’s such a bad idea that he laid all his cards on the table – no, his money – it had something to do with money, hadn’t it? “Hey,” he starts to say, “this guy’s got me convinced, I want my dollar back,” but he’s cut off by this faceless guy – was it Nice Guy Eddie? Was it Joe? – that he can’t really see because across the table, the guy is smirking at him again.

No, it wasn’t about money – it was about diamonds. Yes, he remembers the diamonds, in some fleeting kind of form, small and sharp, like teeth – indeed, perfectly organized teeth. He looks over at White and sighs – first, he gets a thousand diamonds that he’s too scared to take, and now that he goes modern, a thousand diamonds he can’t take. He frowns. What was that? Diamonds, right. He really should focus on the diamonds. His work – his life – depends on it. Yes, his life is definitely connected to these diamonds –

It’s so friggin’ lonely, he realises.

He’s gone through so much – he has some shady memories of a robbery somewhere that’s not a liquor store, a fleeting smoke around something big, and green – this place, a forest, and the distinct smell of something different, a combination of food he’s never seen before (or has it? He looks down at his plate, but his hamburger is already gone) – but every time, the only solid thing he has, so solid he almost reaches out to grab it, but somehow it always goes out of reach – every time, he remembers this solid instinct that there’s something he should have taken better care of. Rosencrantz – no, Guildenstern – no, that was definitely Rosen... Rosie? Was it Rosie? Anyway, there’s someone – something – There’s something missing. Like another part of him, one that he functions better with – feels better with – a part of him – missing. 

Maybe he lacks purpose, he mutters, when he looks over at White and realises, with a kind of startle that shouldn’t be there – like when you try to spell the words ‘house’ or ‘wife’ and you can’t remember ever having seen those letters in that order before – that his name is Freddy. No, focus, here his name is Orange – Orange – Russets and tangerine shades of old gold flushing the very outside edge of the senses... He has to go.

And he dies, every time, because if you can’t learn from your mistakes, what else do you have to go on?

But the thought is gone – nothing but the fleeting smoke of his own breathing – because he’s back, and there’s something he needs to do – always something he has to do – and he needs to push these worries to the back of his mind. Who would listen anyway, he thinks. It’s lonely, and he can never really talk, so he can never really act on it, so there’s nothing he can do and the best is to forget – anyway, he’s not sure that talking about it would do it any good? Isn’t it? Wouldn’t that somehow be some kind of – reaching out?

Worlds and worlds and worlds pass by, each one of them erasing the other, and he still worries, but he tries not to think too much about it – he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. And for a second, he’s almost sure his eyes are watering.

And then, all of a sudden, he’s back – such a weird thought, he muses, because that forest is definitely not home. But then he looks over and he sees Rosencrantz – it’s definitely Rosencrantz – and allows himself a tired, yet genuine, smile. He remembers – it’s okay now – that’s what was missing – he can reach out. And then Rosencrantz smiles back, and asks, how have you been? And he frowns, because that’s stupid – doesn’t Rosencrantz know?

They’ve been spinning coins for as long as he can remember.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! You can find me on tumblr on tothetrashwhereibelong.


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